


A Tourney Favor

by 3rdstarksistr



Series: If Only [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-12-16 22:52:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11838681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3rdstarksistr/pseuds/3rdstarksistr
Summary: Now in King's Landing, Sansa feels far from Sandor, but she chances upon him before the Hand's Tourney. She hopes he will accept her favor.





	1. Meeting

Sansa had been worried for Sandor Clegane ever since the fire at the Crossroads Inn. She doesn't know why he is never far from her thoughts, especially now when she rarely sees him at the Red Keep, but somehow he is there, the non-knight who rescued her.

She had never seen her father seem so humble and serious as when he thanked Sandor the next day for saving his daughters from the fire, even offering him a place at his table if ever he needed it. The king had seen fit to reward him with a handsome amount of gold dragons, praising him for saving the Hand's daughters in front of everyone. But Sansa had seen the distaste in the Queen's eyes, the way she held her mouth. Sandor had kept his distance from her that day on.

"Sansa," she's surprised to hear her sister call for her, coming into her chamber this morning.

"Arya?" She asks.

"Father said we could go see the tourney grounds. Hurry and get ready."

"But the tourney isn't until tomorrow."

"Some knights will be practicing. Come on, you really want to just stay in here another day?"

"Father said you have to go with me?"

"And our wolves."

"But we have to stay together I'm sure he said."

"Sansa," Arya whines.

"I'm sure Septa Mordane will accompany us."

"Jory is already getting our horses saddled to ride out though."

Sansa looks at her sister, "We aren't in Winterfell anymore. Don't wander." She knows Arya cannot abide the septa.

Arya sighs, shrugging.

"I'll call for my handmaiden."

"What's wrong with what you're wearing? Just put on your boots."

"But my hair."

"It's not the day of the tourney, Sansa. Come on."

She pins her hair back herself quickly, pulls on her boots, and smooths down her blue dress in the mirror before she leaves with Arya. She is rather relieved to get out of her chambers, feel a little bit of freedom. She's been so looking forward to her first tourney.

Lady and Nymeria follow them out to the tourney grounds, with an escort from her father's guards. Lady has grown so much, but she still minds her unlike how wild Arya has let Nymeria become. If it weren't for father's position, she's almost certain the wolves wouldn't be allowed in the keep.

"Try to keep Nymeria to you," she whispers to Arya after they dismount. "She scares people."

"She's a direwolf."

"And your pet. We aren't in the wilds."

"Would be better if we were."

All she can do is roll her eyes at her sister. There are more people here than she expected so early, many working on last minute additions for more seating and the like. They head towards the joust first, seeing a few men she does not recognize testing their horses.

Arya and her watch from where the commoners will be tomorrow. Her sister asks her, "Who do you think will win? Most say Ser Jaime. I wish father would put him in the dirt. Of course, there's Ser Loras Tyrell and even Ser Barristan. He's a great fighter it is said. I've never seen a joust though so..."

"What about the Hound? Is he in the tourney?"

"I believe so. Have you seen the destrier he got? I was there when he brought him to the Red Keep. Stranger they say he named him."

"After the Stranger?" Sansa says, shocked.

"Is there another?" Arya laughs. "Spirited horse, nearly bit the fingers off a stable boy."

"I think he could win it."

"The Hound?" Arya says, puzzled. She visibly thinks about it. "Maybe the melee. His brother they say will be in the tourney though."

"He didn't say much about him."

Arya looks at her strangely.

"I took that ride with him and got to know him a little."

"You're odd, sister."

"He is nice, and he has saved me twice."

"Maybe you should give him your favor then," Arya snickers. "If he weren't so hideous, I would think you like him as much as those songs you always sing."

"Don't be ridiculous, Arya."

"Let's see what else is here," Arya says, taking off. Sansa quickly picks up her skirts to trail after her. They see the field for the melee and then the archery, and then the girls meander through the tents being set up. Lady is always at Sanaa's side, but the same could not be said of Nymeria. She sees more sigils than she can even recall learning, some must be hedge knights.

Heading back, they come upon some of the larger tents, and that is when to Sansa's bewilderment Lady leaves her side to go into one of them.

"Lady!" She exclaims.

Her eyes go wide to see Sandor Clegane step out with her direwolf on his side, licking his hand.

"Lady Sansa," he says, and she feels caught when her eyes meet his.

"Sansa," her sister tries to get her attention, tugging on her sleeve. "I'm going to find Nymeria, stay here."

"Wait," she turns, but Arya's already off.

"What are you two doing wandering around alone?" She hears him say, coming to her side.

"We have our wolves, and my father's guards escorted us here."

He sighs, looking around.

"It's good to see you," she says. He looks down at her, questioning.

"Are you looking forward to the tourney?" She asks.

He runs a hand over his face, shrugging, as he looks to the side.

Something in her starts to burn with shame that this is the man she thinks of and he has nothing to say to her. "Lady," she says, getting her direwolf's attention, and then stalks off in Arya's direction.

"Little bird," he is quick to say, following after her. "Where are you going?" He grabs her arm to stop her.

"Sandor," she says, frustrated, and she looks up to stop any tears.

"What is wrong?"

She looks at him, seemingly so concerned now, wondering how he really feels. "Why don't I ever see you?"

His brow scrunched, clearly not expecting that. She tries to twist out of his grasp, but he won't let her.

"Clegane?" A voice calls from the direction of the tent.

Sansa turns to the voice to see Ser Jaime Lannister galking at them. Sandor releases her abruptly.

"Ser Jaime," she curtseys.

"Lady Sansa," he bows his head.

"One minute, Jaime, I've got to make sure she..."

Just then Arya returns with Nymeria, and the wolf glides past them right up to Ser Jaime, sniffing and then startling them with a low growl.

"Arya," Sansa exclaims, taking hold of Lady who is now on alert.

"Nymeria," Arya repeats as she gets her wolf to back away from the queen's brother.

"I will see you." Sansa is startled to hear Sandor say in her ear before he strides to Ser Jaime.

"Not shit yourself, I hope," he says to Ser Jaime before they head on.

She doesn't realize she's watching him till he turns back and nods at her.

"Let's go, Arya," she tells her sister.

Back in her chambers, she welcomes the comfort of her sewing needle and Jeyne's company over Arya's. Still, her mind replays this little snippet of time she was with him, giving her no peace. When will he see her? What did he mean?

Jeyne speaks up, "I'm so anxious for tomorrow. I envy you getting to see the grounds this morning."

"Yes, tomorrow will be wonderful."

"You sound troubled though?"

"It is nothing."

"Are you nervous to see the prince?"

"That must be it," she gives Jeyne a small smile.

"Do you think you will still give him a favor?"

"Perhaps." She hates to admit she's been thinking if she sees Sandor before the tourney, perhaps he would like a favor rather. It's the least she could do for him after everything.

She's surprised when her handmaiden comes in bearing a note. "This was left for you, m'lady."

She opens it quickly, reads "godswood," and understands immediately. "Jeyne, I'm afraid I must go."

"What has happened?"

"I will tell you at a later time."

"Of course."

Sansa spies some grey ribbon and quickly snatches it before she leaves her chambers with Jeyne and Lady.

After parting with Jeyne, she makes her way to the godswood, noting the pink entering the dusk sky. She ends up following after Lady who makes her way to a far corner where she encounters Sandor.

"You shouldn't have come here." He says when he sees her.

"Why?" She says, getting closer to him.

"Because you're alone with me." Something about the rasp of his deep voice and the way he looks at her, just sets her heart beating faster as he says this to her.

"But I've wanted to see you."

"You've come to a dangerous place, Sansa. People will think things of you meeting alone with the Hound. Things that could ruin you."

"I just..."

"What is this?" He says, and Sansa realizes she's been toying with the ribbon in her hand.

"A ribbon."

"I can see that."

"I was going to give it to you. To wear in the tourney."

"A bloody favor," he looks at her, incredulous.

"Why do you mock me?" She whispers, shutting her eyelids to the tears.

"Sansa," he sighs. "I'm not the kind of man maidens give favors to." He says softer.

"But you rescued me," she says, opening her eyes and reaching out for his hand.

"Your head is full of songs, girl."

She looks down again, but he pats her hand on his arm.

"Men who take favors from maidens, often take things other than ribbons, too. If you were..."

"Like a kiss?" She interrupts.

"Uh... yes, little bird."

"Can we sit for a minute, Sandor?" She asks him before he can continue.

He looks suspiciously at her for a second before finding a spot for them. Lady curls up at her feet, and she can't help but feel right. She looks up at Sandor with a smile.

"Remember when you helped me ride again at the Crossroads?"

"Yes, little bird."

"That was a lovely day."

"Aye."

"I heard you got another horse."

"I did. Mean bastard."

"I hope he will serve you well in the joust."

"He should."

"Are you nervous?"

"No. Are you sure you want me putting all those pretty knights in the dirt?"

"I really hope you win." 

"Want me to buy you a new dress, little bird, with the gold?" He smirks at her.

"No, I just think you're the best," she gives him her best smile, moving closer to his side.

He snorts. "Too pretty to say those things, little bird."

"Why not?"

"You don't want me touching you."

"I don't mind, Sandor." She hopes she isn't blushing too much as she says those words.

"Sansa," he says, frustrated with her, she can tell. "You're too innocent, girl. I try to tell you these things. I don't want you meeting men in the godswood and giving them favors. They could take advantage of you."

"Why would I meet any other men?"

"You're here with me now. How many others are there?"

"Only you."

He sighs. "What about Joffrey?"

"Joffrey seems to have little interest in me."

"And you in him?"

"I used to think I did, but I don't think of him now. I regret asking Father for me to marry him."

"You're smart in that, little bird."

"I mean, it's because of you."

"Me?"

"Yes." Why did she say that? She feels so taut, admitting this to him.

"How?"

"I don't know. Just something happened when you took care of me. Just seemed like you really cared. And to think I might not have been saved in the fire. I owe you a lot."

"You owe me nothing."

"My father was sincere in granting you a place at his table."

"But his daughter?" Sandor reaches to cup her face in his hand, making her tingle as her heart beats faster. "How would he feel about that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, Sansa." His hand moves over into her hair, combing through the tresses. "Like silk," he says.

"Please, Sandor," she voices, not sure what's she's asking for but more of this feeling.

"Careful, girl. Those are dangerous words." He touches her neck then with his thumb. "Your blood is pumping, little bird. Are you afraid?"

"Not of you."

"You should be."

"You wouldn't hurt me."

They look at each other in the fading light, as Sandor runs his fingers through her hair.

"Sandor?" She asks.

"Yes?"

"Will you please take my favor?"

He takes a deep breath and nods. He takes the ribbon then.

"And would you have a kiss?"

"Little bird, you don't have to."

"If you don't want it..."

"Only if you give it."

She takes a deep breath and steels herself, it can't be that hard. She sits up, looks at his lips, puts a hand on his shoulder as she tilts her head to meet his lips. Her eyes close as she makes contact. Before she can react though, she feels Sandor's arms enclose her and soon she's in his lap as he takes over their kiss. Her arms go around his neck as he presses her against him.

He stops suddenly, pulling back, and she's surprised they're now both breathless. She lays her head against him, and he wraps an arm around her, softly touching her. They don't say a word, but she knows things are different now. It was just a kiss, she had thought.

"You need to get back," he says, as the sky gets darker after they've sat for a few minutes.

He helps her off his lap, and then Sansa turns to him, "When will I see you again?"

He takes her hands in his, "You will, just be patient."

"I will cheer for you in the tourney." She smiles to him.

"And I'll win it for you, little bird."

 


	2. Joust

Sandor feels foolish tying a gray ribbon to his armor. The little bird shouldn't have used one of her house colors, but at least it blends in. He tucks it in where only a sliver of it shines in the sun. He puts his gloves back on and readies himself for the joust.

With Stranger beneath him, not much could stop him. He rides out, still early, but as he comes near the stand, he sees her red hair in the wind first. He sucks in a breath. How he wishes he could ride right up to her. Fuck it, he'll at least ride by her. She doesn't seem real, silly but beautiful girl, wanting to give him her favor and a kiss. Such a sweet little kiss. The thought of any other man in his position and what he might do to the little bird makes him grit his teeth.

He maneuvers Stranger, so he can see her in her pretty dress. She smiles at him so sweetly. Gods, he's fucked. He sees her father next to her and that little she-wolf of a sister. And his gut clenches to see Littlefinger behind her, trying to whisper something in her ear.

He returns to his end of the tilt and looks across at the shiny little knight on his white horse that he's up against. He shuts his visor on his dog's head helm and takes hold of the lance. He waits for the start, and then he races Stranger down the lists, aiming with precision and drive to win this shit. He's not surprised when he unhorses the ill-prepared bastard.

He drops the lance and pulls up his visor, his eyes going to the little bird, standing and clapping for him. He hears his name called out for the win. He turns Stranger then and kicks him on towards the tent.

He's not there ten minutes when the Hand himself comes through the flaps.

"Sandor Clegane," Ned Stark addresses him.

"Leave us," he tells the boys there. He motions to a chair.

"You think I wouldn't see what you're wearing?" The little bird's father says to him.

Damn, Sandor thinks. "What of it?"

"Is it Sansa's ribbon?"

"Aye."

Ned exhales harsh. "I ask that you not continue wearing it."

"I'll do as I please."

"That is a request from the Hand of your King, Clegane."

"I gathered that."

"Sansa is a sweet, young lady and my daughter. If you have in some way used her regard for you to do her any ill will, I will find out and I will handle it myself."

"I would never hurt her."

"See to it that you don't. If you were to touch her, no man in the Seven Kingdoms could save you."

"You would give her to Joffrey though. How well do you know the prince?"

The Hand was about to get up, but he stays seated then. "What is it you're trying to say?"

"Watch the prince and decide for yourself."

"I'm sure Robert..."

Sandor laughs, "You think the king had a hand in raising the boy?"

Ned grimaces. "Sansa hasn't told me anything untoward."

"Have you asked her?"

"She knows to come to me, but I'll ask her. She had wanted the match."

Sandor hesitates but goes ahead and tells him, "But what does she want now?"

"She is betrothed to the prince. It is best you remember that, Clegane." They exchange a look before the Hand rises, Sandor with him.

"Wish you the best in the joust." The Hand extends a hand.

"You're about to see a lot of piece of shit knights in the dirt." Sandor says, taking Sansa's father's hand.

Ned cracks a hint of a smile before nodding and saying good day.

The rest of the day he spends dripping sweat as he plows down every Ser cunt they put him up against. Her father must've said something to the little bird to remain in her seat as he wins, but he can tell her pride as she claps heartily.

He's trying to get dry after the last bout when one of the squires runs in and tells him, "There's a lady waiting outside the tent for you."

He sighs, knowing it's the little bird in all likelihood. Probably worried because the Kingslayer is his next opponent.

He steps through the flaps to see her there with her sister.

"My lord," she addresses him with a curtsy.

"Lady Sansa," he nods his head.

"You've been doing very well in the joust." She smiles so sweetly at him.

"But it hadn't been the Kingslayer yet," Arya pipes in.

"Arya!" Sansa says, making him smirk to see her so ruffled by her sister.

"And there's not enough gold in Casterly Rock to keep him on that horse," he says, seeing Sansa brighten up.

Arya laughs, but he's not sure it's to his benefit. Sansa takes a step toward him, but he gives her a look to tell her not to approach and she stops.

"I hope you won't have to face your brother," the little bird says innocently enough, but he tenses up at the mention of Gregor.

"Do not speak of him," he says with a bite she clearly is dumbfounded by.

"Yes, my lord," she answers, and he is glad she doesn't press him.

"I will handle it if I do." He had heard his brother already killed one of the knights he'd jousted against that morning. He can feel his blood start to boil just thinking about him here, the little bird near him.

Sandor suddenly notices Lannister guards coming through and there is Joffrey approaching them.

Joffrey addresses Sansa, "My lady, how strange to see you and your sister here. You come to cheer on my dog in absence of any real fighters from your own people."

"Playing war in fancy armor isn't the same as fighting wildlings and direwolves up North. None of these southron lords would last up there, even in summer." Arya says, anger threaded in every word.

"Arya," Sansa says, "why don't you go find Father."

"Yes, little girl, go along," Joffrey laughs. The little she-wolf glares daggers at the prince. He's lucky her wolf isn't here this day. Luckily, she scoots along.

"Dog," Joffrey then addresses him. "Impressive today. It's been entertaining."

"Gnats, the lot of 'em."

Joffrey laughs, "Of course, you will be facing my uncle next. Too bad, I was hoping to see you and your brother, Ser Gregor, joust." Sandor clenches his hands as he feels anger roll through him. The little shit.

"I'm sure your sworn shield will prevail, my prince," the little bird chirps. Joffrey barely pays her any mind.

"I believe he faces Ser Loras just now, you will both accompany me, I hope. Mayhaps he will suffer the same fate as the knight earlier today. What was his name?"

"Ser Hugh of the Vale," Sansa diligently answers. "Let us hope not."

Sandor notices how pale Sansa has grown. He itches to touch her, tell her she's safe, and it angers him greatly to think it's his brother now disturbing the little bird. She must've seen the joust where Ser Hugh or whatever died with a lance to the throat.

Joffrey speaks though, "You are sentimental, my lady. There is a great deal of risk in the joust, even life or death." He holds out his hand to her, and Sandor cannot stand the feeling of having to watch him escort his little bird. She will not be Joffrey's, whatever he has to do to convince her father he will do.

He follows them to the joust, a bitter hate filling him up like too much wine can do. Reaching the stand, he stays behind Joffrey while the little bird rejoins her family. She turns back to catch a glimpse of him, situated by her father, and gives him a little smile, seeing him watching her.

Ser Loras, the bloody Knight of Flowers, comes out in his pristine armor on a white mare of all things and carries a red rose. Sandor's nails bite into his gloves as he watches him stop in front of the little bird to offer it to her. She takes it. One pretty face is all it took. Kissing him one night and taking roses from another the next day. He's a fool.

When Gregor comes out on his black stallion, he wishes for him to end this little knight, so he can finally have the chance to face him and end his miserable life. Because that's what it would take. Gregor doesn't follow rules, he kills. He would kill him first though, for all the shit he's done.

It becomes clear why the Tyrell boy is on the mare, she's in heat. Sandor wants to laugh at his brother who's struggling to keep his stallion straight, but he knows it won't end well. On the second pass, the Tyrell boy must aim just right as he watches his brother's horse lose his footing, Gregor falling on the ground. He's ill at ease watching it unfold. The horse gets back up, and the squire is there helping Gregor as he calls for his sword.

He watches tight-lipped with everyone as Gregor slaughters his horse, but then he goes for the Tyrell boy, knocking him off his horse. Before Sandor realizes it, his feet are taking him forward and his sword is in his hands. He stops a killing blow, and then he's in the thick of it, battling it out with his brother.

He's tired but everything is on the line. His blood is pumping, and his sword has never met an opponent with such force. He meets each blow, steel ringing against steel. He hears the king's yell, commanding them to stop, and he drops to kneel right out of Gregor's swing. His brother then stalks off. He catches his breath, wondering if he would have been able to mete it out.

He looks up trying to find the little bird. He finds her there, looking so worried, clutching her chest. She nods at him then, so he looks back toward the king. Robert makes an announcement for the tourney to continue. He'll be up against the Kingslayer now. He gets up and heads towards his tent to make ready.

The Tyrell boy comes up to him, "I owe you my life, ser."

He waves him off, "I've got a joust to win."

Sandor shakes off the fight with his brother and focuses on the task at hand. Sliding his helmet back on puts him in the right frame of mind, that and knowing the little bird is there for him. She better be at least. He swings up onto Stranger, who's a little jumpy, pawing on the ground.

The little she-wolf was right though. It is the Kingslayer he's up against, and he's not one to be plowed down like everyone else. The first tilt is key though. Jaime's a Lannister, and Sandor knew what Joffrey implied when he said he'd lose. They'll expect him to defer to his liege lord's son. So he'll be surprised hopefully when Sandor comes at him with all he's got. Hell if he will. He's winning this joust and getting that gold.

He arrives at the lists and takes his place at one end, catching sight of the Kingslayer there and glances over to find the little bird's red hair before he drops his visor and takes the lance in hand. The start is called, and Sandor kicks Stranger into action, telling him, "Now." His horse responds with an impressive amount of speed as he tries to get the jump on the Kingslayer. His lance bursts, hitting Jaime's though, and the Kingslayer keeps his seat.

Fuck, Sandor thinks, as he reaches the end of the tilt. He yells for his next lance. He takes it in hand and forms up to charge. The start is called, and he presses Stranger again. He aims it square at Jaime's shield, shifting to off-center to try and throw him. Jaime hits him straight in the shield, knocking him to the side of his saddle. Still, they both stay put.

This is it, he thinks, waiting for his next lance. He rubs his gloved hand on Stranger's neck. "We've got to unhorse this fucker," he tells him before he takes the next lance. Stranger paws the ground as Sandor positions the lance for the third pass. The start is called, and he urges Stranger into a strong gallop. He can feel every breath as he heads down the lists, and when he gets to the Kingslayer, he edges forward with his lance to hit him first. He hopes it's enough, and it does make his lance stray, and then Jaime's sliding off his horse.

Sandor finishes down the tilt and turns Stranger around to see a squire helping Jaime up. He breaths out a sigh of relief and pulls his visor. He hears someone announce him the winner, but he's looking for Sansa, and finds her there with her father, cheering him on, standing up despite her father. One more joust.

That flowery knight he's going up against comes forward before the king, calling out, "If I may, your grace."

"Yes," Robert calls out, drunk as ever. Sandor dismounts and takes his helm off for this.

"I yield the final joust to Sandor Clegane as my debt for my life." He turns to Sandor then, "I thank you." And just like that he's proclaimed jousting champion. The king makes some speech, short at least, and he's curious if he's asked to name a queen of love and beauty, but no one mentions it to him. He's given part of the gold, the rest to be delivered to him.

He is happy to see the little bird looking overjoyed at his win. She stands cheering for him still, and he wants nothing more than to be with just her. Too dangerous here for sure, he's not thrilled to admit.

The Kingslayer comes up to him when he's back in the tent, cooling off.

"Must say I'm surprised Hound. Quite a showing today."

He nods. "Lot of gold in it."

Jaime smirks at him, "Must be more than that. Is that not a lady's favor?"

Sandor notices the ribbon has slid down, more noticeable now, and he looks up at Jaime, not liking where this is going.

"Who is the lucky lady? Going to marry her now? You could buy a keep with all that gold."

"You know better than to ask."

"Of course, the lady's honor must be thought of. Especially if she were a sweet maiden you saved along the Kingsroad." He says, before walking off, saying "Good day, Clegane," as he exits the tent. "Oh and Joffrey wanted you to know you'll be expected with him tonight."

It unsettles Sandor to feel so exposed. Jaime mostly is just upset at losing to him, Sandor knows. Still, he'll have to be careful.

Now for the bloody feast, and he'll get to watch over the prince.  

 


	3. Feast

Sansa was so happy Sandor won the joust. She believed in him, and he made it happen, even saving that one knight from his brother. She thought for sure Ser Loras would be killed. What is wrong with his brother to be a knight and act without honor at a tourney?

She really believes now Sandor is the truest knight she knows, but she fears he wouldn't want her to think that. He has always been quick to say he's not a knight. Maybe she should come up with a song for him. She must ask what other deeds he has done.

"Lady Sansa," Joffrey says, approaching her after the tourney was over.

"My prince," she answers, surprised and falling into a curtsy.

"You will sit with me at the feast," he tells her with one of his bright smiles, something about it putting her on edge.

She looks to her father who is talking with Lord Baelish, but Joffrey is already extending his arm out for her. She takes it, and he leads her to where the feast is set up, many already gathered.

Seated there, Joffrey tells her, "I could see you were very impressed with my dog's performance today, Lady Sansa."

"Yes, no one could defeat him."

"I remember you saying he would win earlier in the day." She notices Sandor then approach the feast, and Joffrey taking notice as well. "Dog," he calls out, and Sandor comes to them. He looks tired to her. Joffrey then says, "I was just speaking of you to Lady Sansa."

"Aye," he answers, not looking at her.

"She seemed to think you had the win all along today."

"I did tell you I believed he would prevail," she smiles. "And he did." She doesn't understand why Sandor won't look at her.

"I find it odd," Joffrey starts, his fingers tapping his chair arm, "you didn't name a queen of love and beauty." Sansa's heart starts beating faster, unsure what to make of this. Joffrey then speaks up, "Father, you didn't have the Hound name a queen of love and beauty."

"Father," he calls louder to the clearly inebriated king who's paying more attention to the woman pouring his ale.

The woman points toward the prince, and then the king looks over. "What was that?" King Robert says.

"Father, the Hound has not chosen a queen of love and beauty."

"Has he not?" The King says, taking hold of the serving maid's arm, "Here's one right here, Hound!" He then pulls her into his lap, causing laughter to ring out along the tables. She feels a little uncomfortable at the display and looks for her father, who's joined the party. He doesn't look amused.

"There can only be one," Joffrey says, loud and standing up. "Where is the rose crown?" Why is he being so insistent? Sansa wonders. People quiet a little as there seems to be some shuffling from the servants until Littlefinger of all people walk out with one, towards King Robert.

"I believe we have a crown, your grace."

"Who will you name, dog?" Joffrey asks, a big smile on his face, almost giddy.

Sandor appears unmoved, but she sees his hands almost in fists and can feel the bitter anger rolling off of him. Shouldn't Joffrey be congratulating him? It seems like he's trying to humiliate him? Sandor wouldn't pick her, would he?

Suddenly Sandor takes fast strides toward Littlefinger, snatching the flower crown, and then he heads straight toward her, dropping it in her lap before she can react, not saying a word, an impassive look in his eye. She looks down at the crown in her hands, her heart beating fast, a mix of emotions taking over, as she touches the pink roses, so lovely. He chose her and for that she would feel elated if it weren't for the strange way it's happening.

"Lady Sansa," Joffrey is then calling her name out, and she realizes all eyes are on her now. "My betrothed." He comes to her side, his hand going to her shoulder. "Stand now, aren't you going to wear it? The Hound chose you."

She starts to get up, someone yelling "put it on" in the crowd. She notices Sandor start to walk out towards the tables.

"Where are you going, dog? Won't you help her with the crown?" Joffrey calls out, stopping him.

She's standing there at the dais next to Joffrey when Sandor comes up to her, and she can tell she's shaking as she hands him the rose crown. This is her dream, being named the queen of love and beauty by the knight she adores who won the tourney for her. Why does it feel like a waking nightmare then?

He takes the crown, and she looks up at him, seeing concern in his eyes and it strengthens her. He then places the rose crown on her head, gently pressing it into her hair.

Joffrey takes hold of her left arm then on the other side, squeezing it. Is he trying to hurt her? "How do you like the crown, my lady?" His nails start to dig painfully, and she looks to Sandor pitifully. His eyes narrow, confused, but she can see when he understands and a dangerous look enters his eye.

"It is beautiful," she says softly.

"So we all can hear," he says, tugging at her.

"It is beautiful," she says louder, wanting to cry at how he's ruining it. "Thank you, my lord," she directs to Sandor.

"Let me go," she says quietly to Joffrey, but he doesn't let go, only loosening his grip slightly.

He only says, "Won't you thank him properly, Lady Sansa? I'm sure there's some favor you have in mind?" Some of those gathered for the feast laugh, some call out their agreement or suggestions.

What is she going to do? A favor, he couldn't mean? Seeing her panic, Joffrey laughs, engendering laughter from the crowd. She remembers the song she had thought to put together earlier, she could just sing one she knows.

"I will sing a song," she says suddenly.

Joffrey looks displeased. He then says to everyone, "Surely you have a ribbon or something to bestow?" She gasps slightly and looks to Sandor who is staring daggers at Joffrey as he laughs with the others. Her favor wasn't that visible? Does he know?

"A song she said," Sandor speaks up. "A song I will have." She notices something pass between Sandor and Joffrey as everyone else laughs but why she does not understand.

"Enough," she hears her father say loudly with a bang on the table as he stands. "Robert, is this how my daughter will be treated? Sansa, come here."

Joffrey reluctantly lets her go, and she hears the king say, "Ned, it's all in good fun now. Look at the girl, she's the queen of love and beauty. What maiden doesn't dream of that?"

She goes to her father's side, and he takes her hand. "Are you alright?" He asks.

She nods, but her face tenses as a little tear falls.

"I'll send you back to your chambers."

"May I sing first?" She asks. His brow creases as he looks at her strangely. "Please, Father."

"Your grace," her father says to the king, "Sansa would like to sing."

"Of course, she can. Players," the king calls out. A number of men with instruments step out, and she steps towards the center.

"Just a harp," she says, and tells the player, "I will sing Jenny's song."

She takes a breath and then starts to sing the sad, lovely song of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. The harpist plays softly with her, and there is not another sound to be heard. She looks at her father first and then looks to Sandor, trying not to cry as she sings of tragedy with the rose crown she's always wanted on her head but feels so heavy now.

The song isn't too long and when she finishes, all is silent for a second and then everyone starts to clap. She watches Sandor, though, who stays motionless watching her.

"Beautiful," she hears the king say and she turns to him. She's surprised to see him wiping away tears. "Ned, I wish Lyanna had a song. There ought to be one pretty as that though it'd be just as sad."

"Aye, Robert," her father says, and motions for her. "You should have it written."

She goes to her father, who tells her, "I'll see you back myself," and they head from the table.

"Where's Arya?"

"I sent her back with Jory."

"Ned," the king calls out, halting them. "Don't go yet, surely one of your guards can see to the girl."

"I will see her back to the Tower of the Hand myself, Father," she hears Joffrey say, and she cringes.

"My daughter isn't well, I ask you give me leave to see her back whole myself." Her father says.

"We all just heard her sing so pretty, Ned, the girl is fine. Let them some time together, they'll make up. My boy will take care of her."

Her father looks at her, and she nods to him, knowing he has little choice. She doesn't want him to defy the king for her sake.

"Very well," her father says, none too pleased.

"Come, dog," Joffrey says.

The tension is high as they travel back, and there is nothing said. So much for making up, Sansa thinks.

As they near the tower, Sansa is starting to feel relieved, but Joffrey says, "It is none too late, Sansa. And I would like to show you something. This way." She and Sandor exchange looks, but they follow as Joffrey leads them to a lone tower, climbing to the roof.

"What do you see from here?"

"King's Landing and the Blackwater," Sansa answers.

"Yes, so far away. And far down." He gives her a strange look that sets her on edge further. "It's too bad you've been foolish, my lady."

"I'm sorry if you think so."

"You think you haven't? Defying your prince is acceptable? You are to be mine, you think I will tolerate insolence?"

"No, I don't."

"Good, but you must be punished." Joffrey says with a smile.

"What did I do?" She says.

"What haven't you done? Giving my sworn shield your favor. And before, on the Kingsroad, you tried to get him to join your father's service. I could go on. See you must be punished. Dog, would you do me the honor. Leave her face though, I like her pretty."

Her eyes go wide, as she looks to Sandor who laughs sourly. She's very nervous for what he will do but not to her. "You think I would harm a hair on her?" He says to Joffrey.

"I command you," Joffrey says, turning red. "Why would you not do as I say?" Seeing Sandor not act, Joffrey lunges for her, and she trips trying to step backward and falls against the stone wall. When she looks up, Sandor has him by the throat with a dagger to his chest. He takes him over to the side as if to throw him over, but she can't make out what Sandor is saying to him.

Worried what he will do and the consequences, Sansa calls out, "Sandor, please don't hurt him. Please don't do anything."

He looks over at her, and he must come to his senses as he pulls away from the edge and sheathes his dagger. "Harm her again and it will be the last fucking thing you do."

The prince looks in a state of shock. Sandor comes over and picks her up and takes her down the spiral staircase, leaving Joffrey behind. He takes her all the way to the Tower of the Hand. Jory is on guard and stops Sandor.

"Is the Lady Sansa hurt?" He asks.

"I don't believe so," Sandor answers, putting her down.

"Why were you carrying her in an untoward manner then?"

"Jory, we need Father, you must send for him. It's an emergency."

"Yes, my lady," he says. "I will go myself."

Sansa shows Sandor up into her father's solar for them to wait there. Alone, she rushes into his arms, seeming to surprise him, but he holds her against him. She lets the tears fall for everything as she feels safety now with him.

"You lost your crown," Sandor says to her when she pulls back and rubs at her eyes. His hands come to her face to wipe the tears off for her.

"I'm sorry, Sandor. Thank you for it, it was beautiful."

"That bastard prince trying to make a fool of me and of you. You deserved to have the crown though."

"I'm just so proud of you for winning the tourney," she smiles as best she can under the circumstances. "I knew you'd win."

"Couldn't have without you there." He traces her cheek, making her feel warm and happy again. "These Lannisters are sore losers."

"What?"

"The Kingslayer came by to congratulate me and tell me how much he liked your favor."

"He did? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you wear it."

"You didn't make me. I'm glad you gave it to me." He tells her, bending to steal a quick kiss. "Your father came to tell me the same thing earlier."

"He did?!" She looks at him wide-eyed.

"Aye," Sandor smirks. "But I think it was the Lannister told Joffrey. I knew he was trying to set me up to pick you, to try and humiliate us both. That song you sang took the wind out of his sails."

She smiles at him, feeling relieved even more.

"You see you cannot marry Joffrey now."

"You're right," she says with a small smile. "I don't want to."

"I was trying to tell your father that, but he wouldn't hear it. You have to tell him."

She nods to him, taking his big hand in both of hers.

He pulls her close again, kissing the top of her head, then releases her. "Now sit down like a little lady. You wouldn't want anyone seeing us like this."

She does as he says, and Sandor remains standing as they wait. She's surprised as they go over the day how she remembers better the knights he faced than Sandor himself.

Finally, her father bursts into the solar, Jory behind him. "What is it, Sansa?"

"It's the prince. He tried to have Sandor punish me. I was so afraid."

"Oh, sweet one." Her father says, embracing her.

"There's no telling what story Joffrey will come up with," she hears Sandor's sober voice.

"Thank you for not harming her," her father says.

"Over my dead body will she be," Sandor says.

She can see her father's jaw set at Sandor's answer. "What happened exactly?"

Sansa looks to Sandor and then tells her father all that happened and what Sandor and her discussed.

Her father always looked stressed these days in King's Landing, but he seemed overly tired and quiet. "Should you rest, Father?" Sansa asks.

"No, too much has happened."

Sansa had been troubled this whole time thinking what would become of Sandor, he cannot go back to serve the prince now. "Father, you still hold that Sandor always has a place at your table. I don't see how he can still serve the prince."

"Sansa," she hears Sandor say, with more grating in his tone than she expected.

"I do thank you, Clegane, and the offer holds."

"I cannot stay in the city," Sandor says, and Sansa looks at him with wide eyes. What? He can't leave her.

"Father!" She says, pleading.

"I will talk to Robert in the morning."

"In the morning will be too late. Cersei will have her way. You think you're safe here? You think your daughters are?"

"Father," Sansa comes over to her father, "Please listen to Sandor. I cannot marry the prince. What can be done?"

Her father turns, running his hand through his hair. "Sansa, you will leave for Winterfell in the morning with your sister." He sounds so sober and deliberate in those words. "I'll send ten of my men with you."

"I will be with them," Sandor says, steel in his eye. She looks between her father and him, seeing her father grit his teeth.

"Please allow Sandor Clegane to come with us."

Ned sighs, “Very well.”


End file.
